


the world at our feet

by Chierei



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha Victor Nikiforov, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Mob, BAMF!Katsuki Yuuri, Getting to Know Each Other, Identity Reveal, M/M, Omega Katsuki Yuuri, Omega Verse, Organized Crime, Secrets, Untagged Triggers, Violence, mafia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-07 19:48:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12239496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chierei/pseuds/Chierei
Summary: Victor needed to be calm now. He needed to lock away the part of him that was fuming in rage at being blindsided by a pretty face, the part that was telling him to put a bullet through those familiar, beautiful brown eyes, and send him back to Japan in pieces. He needed to lock away the part of him that was, deep down inside, mourning for those stolen moments when he thought that maybe, just maybe, he could be just Victor for a few moments longer. Victor stared into the eyes of his mate who was a complete and utter stranger to him and in a snap, shoves any ounce of affection into the basement of his heart.(In which people like to forget that omegas could be just as dangerous as alphas. Yuuri reminds them.)





	1. hello from the other side

**Author's Note:**

> Please see end notes for potential warnings.

  
_before_

Victor’s mate-to-be was a true vision of classic omegan beauty. He was as beautiful as the photos had made him look, his black hair carefully styled back from his forehead and accentuating his slim neck. His lips were painted a light rose blush instead of the garish red some omegas chose on their claiming days. His dress, with its high lace neckline and long sleeves, allowed only the barest, teasing peek of skin. The floor-length veil was draped over the omega’s face, pinned from a crystal hair band and trailing behind the omega by several feet, its edges delicately scalloped French lace. Warm honey-brown eyes were lowered demurely in respect, and the omega had yet to meet his alpha’s eyes.

It was perfect.

Claiming ceremonies were, at their core, a cross between a wedding and an adoption, binding the omega to the chosen alpha together legally. After this, Victor would be responsible for the well-being of the other man—physically, emotionally, and financially. Naturally, Victor’s actual wedding would be a much grander affair, would be attended by the rich and powerful and would, undoubtedly, be the affair of the year. _This_  ceremony was attended only by the alpha and omega themselves, Victor’s lawyer who was acting as the officiant, and the half dozen underlings that would be witness. And, as expected, the Japanese contingent was also present, as proof of the claiming and to seal their treaty.

This may be business, Victor thought, but there would be plenty of pleasure in this as well. His eyes raked up and down appreciatively. The dress hid his figure, but Victor could see the tapered waist and then subtle swell of hips. Victor couldn’t wait to have a taste. Victor was distracted enough that he almost missed his mark, a simple nod from his lawyer.

Victor smiled down at the omega, more predatory than protective. “From this day forth, I take you to be my omega. I promise to honor and cherish you as your alpha. I promise to protect and provide for you and our children. Will you kneel before me and take this as a symbol of my claim to you, to honor me as your alpha from this day on?” Victor held his hand out to his side, not taking his eyes off his omega, and wrapped his fingers blindly around one of the gold cuffs that were set in his palm. The cuff was thinner than most claiming cuffs, no more than the width of two fingers, and had a subtle profile that would not be easily noticed under long sleeves. The hinge and lock were discreetly hidden on opposite ends, intermixed with the subtle carvings of swirled roses.

The omega knelt obediently, an elegant and flawless transition to his knees, and Victor heard him speak for the first time, his voice full of nervous eagerness. “From this day forth, I promise to always be your faithful and true omega. I vow to honor and obey you as my alpha and to provide care and affection to our children.” Then, delicately, so delicately that Victor almost felt the breath knocked from him at the beauty of it, the omega offered up his wrists, pressed together with his palms up and open. “I offer myself to you.”

Victor gently handled the right wrist first, as was traditional, pushing up the lace sleeves to expose the soft underside of his wrist. The omega still hadn’t looked up, but Victor smiled as he felt the slightest tremor, the undercurrent of anticipation in the omega. This omega has clearly never offered up his wrists before, and Victor had to repress the urge to bury his nose into the exposed skin, to scent it lewedly in public. “With these,” Victor recited softly, slowly fastening the right wrist into the cuff, the snap of the lock deafening at such close quarters. The second cuff was discreetly handed to him as Victor grabbed the left wrist to repeat the gesture. “I bind us so forth. Rise.”

The omega—his omega—rose with as much grace as he had knelt, his face still downturned and his hands now clasped loosely in front of him. The omega was beaming, practically overflowing with happiness, something that Victor found charming. The ceremony was over, and Victor could already see his lawyer laying out the paperwork. Victor hastily scrawled his name at the bottom of the contract before the omega copied his gesture, the elegant kanji a stark contrast to the looped Cyrillic.

There was one more thing that Victor wanted to do, but it could wait for later. “Take him to my chambers,” Victor instead instructed, his eyes never leaving the top of the bowed head. “I’ll be there shortly.”

Mila hurried forward, offering her arm to the omega who took it hesitantly but did not protest nor lift his eyes from the floor. Victor didn’t watch her usher the slighter man out the door, but instead just offered a suave smile at the waiting Japanese crowd while gesturing to the desk. “Shall we, gentlemen?”

———

Victor couldn’t get the formalities over with fast enough. Luckily, the rest of the party seemed to be of a similar mind; it was never safe to keep an alpha away long from a waiting omega, and both parties were eager to finalize their agreement. By the time the paperwork was tucked away, both for the claiming and the resulting business agreement, it had been just over an hour since the omega had been sent away. Victor was already loosening his tie as he strolled to his room, his small army of bodyguards and sycophants trailing obediently behind him. “You are dismissed,” he ordered carelessly as he reached his door with a flick of his wrist. They knew better than to argue, but Otabek simply turned to face the opposite wall, his back to the door in his familiar post and arms tucked behind his back.

The omega was kneeling at the foot of the large king-sized bed, directly in the center with his eyes downward and focused on the folded hands in his lap. The claiming dressing was artfully spread around him, the veil still pulled down over his eyes and Victor who see the hints of the gold cuffs peeking from under the lace sleeves. Victor was pleasantly surprised to see the omega still kneeling: it was old-fashioned and highly traditional for an omega to wait for the alpha in such a manner. Then again, it was highly untraditional for the consummation to lag behind the ceremony itself.

“Rise,” he ordered as he pulled his tie off and draped it over the nearest chair back. His suit jacket followed shortly and for once, in his eagerness, he didn't spend the extra time to fold it to prevent wrinkles. He was already unbuttoning his cufflinks by the time the omega was on his feet.

The other man was tall for an omega, but Victor still towered over him, the difference in height only exacerbated by the slight hunch in the other's posture. Victor ghosted his fingers along the material of the veil before he finally reached the edge, flipping it carefully back to fall down the omega’s back like an ethereal waterfall. Up close, the omega only looked more elegant, all pale skin that was unhindered by cumbersome makeup. “Look at me,” he ordered, stroking one finger under the omega’s chin to tilt it subtly upward. He let a smile curl on his lips when the omega finally looked him in the eyes, expressive brown eyes that were framed with long, full lashes. There was a wet sheen over them as though he was about to cry, and the image was stunning. 

“You are exquisite,” he complimented freely and with delight, especially when a light blush crawled up and dusted the omega’s cheeks. It spoke well for the omega’s innocence, though it had been verified before the contract was accepted. The omega looked like he was wanting to speak, a pink tongue slipping between his lips to wet them, but he refrained. Well-mannered as well, Victor added to his notes. As expected of an omega offered to him—anything less would have been a dire insult and Victor would have likely sent the omega’s head back to Japan in a box.

“You may speak freely,” he said, reaching one hand out to brush his hair behind his ear and run his hand down his cheek to finally cup the side of his neck, affectionate and possessive in the same stroke.

“Do I,” the omega asked, shyly, unsure. Victor found it impossibly endearing. “Do I please you, alpha?”

Victor rumbled, deep in his chest, and his grip on the back of the omega’s neck tightened and intertwined with his hair in response. He tugged sharply and enjoyed the soft ‘oh’ that was a mix of pain and pleasure that left the omega’s mouth as Victor forced his head back to bare the smaller man's throat. “You do,” he said, his voice already rough with arousal as he nipped roughly at the soft exposed skin below the omega’s ears, pressing himself fully up against the other. There was no mistaking his interest. His other hand was already reaching back to undo the clasps at the back of the dress by the time Victor crushed their lips together.

The omega was perfect and he was _his_.

 

 

  
_after_

Victor snarled. How dare these bastards, these worms, these maggots take what was his. Victor could almost feel the adrenaline running through him as he fired off another shot, his hand already feeling the ache from handling the recoil from his gun. He was going to murder whoever had taken Yuuri from his, rip their throat out with his bare hands and then send the pieces to each of his enemies an example. No one touched what belonged to Victor Nikiforov, especially not his omega.

“Careful, Victor,” Chris cautioned at his side, firing off another shot up in the rafters that was followed swiftly by the sound of a body hitting the ground. Gunshots were raining from both sides and Victor would see Mila from the corner of his eye engaged in hand-to-hand with a bulky male. “I know you are agitated, but that’s what they want. An alpha whose omega is under threat is a clumsy alpha.”

Victor growled. He knew that already, knew that kidnapping Yuuri had been all designed to make Victor Nikiforov fall to his knees. The abduction of his mate had been masterfully done, and if he didn’t manage to have Yuuri returned to him, unharmed, his reputation would take an even bigger hit. He would be Victor Nikiforov, the pakhan who had let his omega be held hostage, who had been unable to protect an omega, the perfect humiliation for any alpha.

If Victor couldn’t retrieve Yuuri alive and unharmed, he’d have to kill the omega himself to prove his dominance to his enemies, prove his frozen heart and ruthlessness to make sure they never even thought of crossing him again.

“I know, Chris,” Victor instead replied. Had it been anyone other than Chris, his oldest friend and right-hand man, he probably wouldn’t have shot them out of principle. “Just make sure to keep a couple alive for me. I think I’ll enjoy disemboweling them later when my Yuuri is back.”

“Victor Nikiforov,” he heard a voice say, deliberately and loudly, his voice echoing in the cavern of the warehouse. “I applaud your determination and am quite surprised you managed to find us. However, unless you want your pretty little omega to be a pretty little dead omega, I suggest you and your friend come out for us to have a friendly chat.”

The gunfire halted abruptly. If no one was taking a shot at the speaker, that meant that he probably was using someone as a shield. Victor could easily figure out who that someone was.

“No? Let me give you a little incentive.” Victor could hear shuffling and a muted cry from around a gag. “Come on, little omega. Cry out for your alpha.”

There was the sound of crying, shuffling, and then the sharp crack of skin against skin.

“P-please, please. Victor! Victor, please!”

Victor’s blood ran cold. He would have recognized that voice from anywhere, beautiful and higher pitched than most males, but laced with fear and panic instead of the normal sweet uncertainty or playfulness. He could see Chris frantically shaking his head, but Victor just met his eyes and Mila’s for one long second, nodding while he gestured up to the rafters, and then slowly, he stepped out from behind his cover.

“Crispino,” he greeted flatly as he stepped forward, his gun casually at his side in his trademark flippancy. He kept his face straight as he walked closer to the older man, his footsteps almost deafening in the surrounding silence. He had no doubt that half a dozen sniper rifles were trained on him, just as he had no doubt that Georgi was silently taking them out one at a time.

Nicolo Crispino smiled, all teeth, and greeted Victor in return as though they were old friends meeting for a drink. He was flanked on either side by two guards with bulging muscles and automatic weapons cradled in their arms. “Nikiforov. There you are. I think this might belong to you.”

Victor tried not to look at Yuuri, but his eyes drank in the sight of his omega for the first time in days. Yuuri was held out in front of the elder alpha, who had one arm wrapped loosely around the omega’s neck and the other hand holding a deadly pistol that was cocked at Yuuri’s temple. Victor could already feel his blood racing at the sight, of his beautiful Yuuri, bare wrist and exposed to these brutes. There was a bruise, ugly and purple, that was blooming on Yuuri’s left cheek and his sleeve was torn at the shoulder seam, exposing the scabbed scrapes on his shoulder. There were tears in his eyes, and Victor could see red rings around his eyes that spoke of crying.

Nicolo did not miss Victor’s assessment and his smile widened, manic almost in his arrogance. “I’m afraid the dear got a little…roughed up. But don’t worry, we took the very best care of him.” There was an edge of innuendo in his voice that was only strengthened when the arm wrapped around the omega’s neck dropped down instead to the strip of skin that was exposed between Yuuri’s blouse and top of his pants. Nicolo skimmed over the exposed skin, a lover’s caress, and let his hand reach up under the top to grope at Yuuri’s chest lewdly. Yuuri’s eyes only widened as he looked at Victor, begging, pleading, and his breathing hitched as he started crying, tears streaming uninhibited.

Victor hadn’t noticed that the gun that had been pressed against Yuuri’s head had shifted, too blinded by the momentary rage. He knew that the show had likely been carefully crafted and planned, everything carefully orchestrated to make Victor act with emotion instead of intelligence, and it was working.

Victor may have missed how the gun was now pointed into thin air, that Nicolo was too busy enjoying a momentary victory against the infamous Nikiforov, but Mila clearly hadn’t. The crack of a gunshot rang out, almost deafening at such close quarters, and Victor only had a second to realize that she had missed—the shot only grazing Crispino’s shoulder instead of being fatal and missing Yuuri entirely. Victor had already dropped to a practiced crouch at the sound, balancing himself on the balls of his feet, and was raising his weapon up to finish the job, to execute the elder Crispino, before his Yuuri was caught in the crossfire.

Instead, he looked up just in time to see Yuuri, his Yuuri, reach up to grab the Nicolo’s wrist that held the gun and twisted, the move quick and brutal. It would have easily broken bones if the recipient didn’t give. The shock was evident on the Crispino’s face, and he dropped the weapon in surprise. Victor was already preparing himself for a misfired shot, but Yuuri had reached his free hand to grab the barrel of the gun and twist himself away from the weak hold. A switchblade, small and deadly, suddenly materialized in Yuuri’s other hand and was a platinum blur as it swept across Nicolo’s exposed throat in a single, practiced slice.

A grotesque fountain of thick red blood spouted from the wound, the carotid artery cut perfectly and the resulting spray splattering the omega almost full-on. Yuuri ignored the falling body and the blood that dripped from his skin, already adjusting his grip on the stolen firearm to manage two successive shots to the two guards that were still standing, dumbfounded. One body thudded to the ground, its face a mangled, crushed mess from a up-close shot from a small caliber, but the second guard only cursed in pain as he fumbled to raise his own weapon.

Yuuri fired off a third shot and the remaining guard screamed, dropping the automatic on the ground as blood pours from his forearm where the last bullet had found its target. Victor heard the empty click of the chamber as Yuuri tried to fire a fourth time before the omega tossed the weapon aside and closed the distance between them with two great strides. In a dizzying blur, Yuuri moved to slash the other with his acquired knife, only for it to be blocked by a thick palm. Undeterred, Yuuri raised a leg—perfectly straight with pointed toes—and landed a brutal kick to the man’s side that was followed by two quick jabs—one bare hand to the throat and the second to bury the knife up to the hilt into the shoulder. The bigger man was already on his knees by the time Yuuri was close enough to place his hands on either side of his head and then there was a loud, sickening crack as the omega snapped his neck.

The skirmish was over quick after that—many of Crispino’s men wiped in the short seconds of surprise that Mila had managed with her initial shot and the rest cleared in the following minute as they watched their boss be brutally cut down by Nikiforov’s omega.

Victor himself had managed to pull himself together long enough to empty his chamber into the skull of the first man who had first aimed a shot at Yuuri. His chest was tight and the adrenaline was still racing through his veins. He pulled himself up to his feet, and he could hear Chris and Mila joining him hastily.

Victor pulled his gun up, already aiming it perfectly at Yuuri’s back. It was all for show—the chamber was empty but the familiar feeling for a gun in his hand helped ground him. The omega wasn’t paying them any attention. He was crouched down by his last kill, calmly cleaning the knife off on the jacket of the man with an ease that set Victor on edge. Both Chris and Mila had their weapons trained on him as well, flanking him on either side as they always have and Victor could already hear shouts in Russian as the rest of his men finish clearing the area and joined them.

Yuuri didn’t pay them any mind, doesn’t so much as glance at the half-dozen itchy triggers that were ready to rain bullets down on him. Instead, he was patting down Niccolo’s body, kneeling in the sticky blood that had drained from the astoundingly professional gash in his throat. He evidently found what he was looking for in the man’s inner suit pocket, and Victor saw only the quickest glint of gold before whatever is was found itself tucked into Yuuri’s back pocket. It was only then that Yuuri stood and looks at Victor.

Victor barely recognized his omega. The cream-colored blouse, with its delicately crocheted lace edges and bell sleeves, was smudged with dirt and soaked in fresh blood. One entire sleeve and Yuuri’s arm was drenched in the metallic liquid, grotesque evidence of his first kill, and Victor’s eyes traced the splatter patterns that had landed on Yuuri’s cheek, stark against the purple bruise. Yuuri had pushed his hair back and out of his eyes with his bloody hand, uncaring, and the mixture of blood and sweat kept his bangs out of his eyes in a style that was a parody of their claiming day.

Victor doesn’t know if Yuuri has ever been more attractive.

Yuuri offered the group a humorless smile and spread his palms out before him as though to show how harmless he was. It’s a fruitless endeavor: half of the men had just watched him kill three men and the bloody streaks on his face only lend to a savage imaginary. The fact that he hadn’t dropped the knife does not go unnoticed by anyone. Yuuri knew it too because he dropped the innocent act almost immediately. Instead, he shifted his weight and in place of what was a confused, almost embarrassed omega, was the confident stature of a professional, bold and assured in his own abilities.

“Alpha,” Yuuri purred with a cock of his hips, and Victor shivered at the tone. Yuuri had said the same word many times before, but they were always sweet, cloying, begging and not this low, rumble of seduction.

“Victor,” Chris said, a note of warning in his voice and the click of his safety is almost deafening in the stunned silence. Victor barely took in that Chris had not left the encounter unscathed; he was favoring his left leg and his knuckles were bloody.

Yuuri just raised an eyebrow as he crosses his free arm over his chest while he spins the switchblade showily with the other before his face morphs into an exaggerated pout. Victor felt like he was looking at a complete stranger. “Really, Chris? I’m hurt. Do you really think I just saved your asses just so I can kill you myself?”

“I don’t know, Yuuri. Did you?” Chris’s tone was cold but steady. He had always gotten along with Yuuri, as well as any of them did, but no one really knew the omega or even the omega that Yuuri had been play-acting as. It was improper for other alphas to be too close to mated omegas, and Yuuri had spent most of his time with his beta chaperone or locked in his room doing…something. Victor had always assumed embroidery or reading poetry—which now that he thought about it, sounded impossibly silly.

Yuuri’s eyes sharpened, the normally expressive eyes thinned into daggers of chilly calculation. “I could have easily killed any of you just now. I could have waited in the corner and waited for the cavalry to come, played the omega in distress, the poor dear who was in shock at the loss of their alpha. Little Yura is heir, right? If Victor was dead.” Yuuri’s tone was openly mocking now. “Such a sweet boy. I’m sure he would have comforted a grieving omega very thoroughly.” Yuuri purrs the last part, and it comes out obscene, the implication obvious. It was an open secret that young Yuri Plisektsy had a crush the size of Siberia on the pakhan’s claimed omega, but it was a harmless adolescent infatuation that would pass in time. If Victor had died and Yuri inherited his position, if Yura had inherited Victor’s omega as well as the title of pakhan…

Yuuri could have had little Yura wrapped around his finger without even much of a thought if he was as good as they were quickly realizing.

“But,” Yuuri continued, letting the message stew. His hand had stilled, the blade of the knife trapped between two of his fingers with the hilt pointing toward Victor. “I didn’t, did I?”

“And why is that?” someone asked, and it’s only after the words are out that Victor realizes it was his own voice. His words were impressively calm considered the swelling, smoldering mess of emotions that churned in his chest, emotions that were caught somewhere between anger and betrayal, arousal and annoyance.

Yuuri hesitated, and it’s the first time in this conversation that Victor felt like he might know the man across from him. He smiled instead of answering right away, and it wasn’t the cocky, sexy arrogant smirk that Victor had started to expect from this Yuuri—nor is it the shy, hesitant smile of Victor’s Yuuri. His eyes glance to the left and right, lingering on the edges of company that had been steadily building to watch the confrontation. “I think that’s private, between Victor and I. So why don’t we go home and have a talk, husband-of-mine?”

Victor knew what Yuuri is doing, knew how much Victor loves it when Yuuri called him that and that the phrase brought up sweet memories of laughing in bed, the soft feeling of hands running through his hair, and the mellow scent of mahogany and orange zest. Victor and Yuuri were mates, bound since the claiming, but they were not husbands.

“Why don’t we talk here?” Chris interjected, his tone a poor imitation of his usual tone and his aim for nonchalance missed the mark by a mile. Chris adjusted his grip, but his hands remain focused. Victor had no doubt that Chris could have a bullet through Yuuri’s brain in a second if Victor gave the signal.

Yuuri didn’t answer, but maintained eye contact with his alpha. Victor tried to grasp at what Yuuri was trying to say to him, tried to parse the real Yuuri that was behind the docile, submissive mate and the professional killer in front of him. The clashing images left Victor with nothing but a confused headache.

Victor needed to be calm now. He needed to lock away the part of him that was fuming in rage at being blindsided by a pretty face, the part that was telling him to put a bullet through those familiar, beautiful brown eyes, and send him back to Japan in pieces. He needed to lock away the part of him that was, deep down inside, mourning for those stolen moments when he thought that maybe, just maybe, he could be just Victor for a few moments longer. Victor stared into the eyes of his mate who was a complete and utter stranger to him and in a snap, shoves any ounce of affection into the basement of his heart.

Victor made his decision.

Victor Nikiforov was known for his unflappable demeanor, his casual charm that no one has been able to make him break. No one, especially not an omega, would make he lose that.

Victor smiled, cold and beautiful, and then laughed—airy, light, perfect, and fake. “There are more important things that need to be handled. Secure the area. I’ll talk to the omega later,” Victor ordered. He let his weapon drop to his side and then handed it off carelessly—a perfected act—to Mila. Mila took it, but he can read the uncertainty in her body language. Victor took a few steps forward, a few steps closer to Yuuri, pointedly ignoring the knife. Two could play at this game.

“Now be a good boy for me,” Victor said, sweet and cloying in a voice he’s used many times to the other, but the encouraging edge of praise was now dripping with condescension. “On your knees.”

Yuuri dropped to his knees without complaint, setting the blade down simultaneously. It was as beautiful of a sight as it ever was, but there is none of the demure grace that was characteristic of him following the order, no breathy exhale and shine of exaltation that came with serving his alpha. Instead, Yuuri merely looked amused, an infuriating smirk crossing his lips as he dropped down and the defiance easily read in his eyes. He doesn’t offer his wrist up to Victor like he normally does, the underside upturned in the offering. Victor had several memories of wrapping those same wrists, so slim and delicate, in silk scarves, of the hitch in his mate’s breathing as he tugged them up and over his head.

Yuuri didn’t offer his wrists, but instead, he tucked his arms behind his back with each hand grabbing the opposing forearm. Simple. Practical.

Victor spent less than a second looking down at Yuuri before he walked passed, all carefully constructed indifference. He doesn’t spare Yuuri another glance, already directing the swift clean-up operations. His men catch on easily and hurriedly scurried to and fro to obey his every word. Otabek would have long realized something was wrong when they didn’t check in and would likely burst in at any moment.

“Easy with the goods, darling,” Yuuri said from behind him, followed by the familiar zing of a closing zip tie.

Victor is too well-trained to flinch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My aesthetic is omegas who will literally rip the throat out of their enemies with their teeth. 
> 
> I mixed some elements of more traditional omega-verse, dom/sub elements, and then some regency throwbacks. Most probably won't even make it into the main story, but a muse is a muse. Any feedback would be loved! ❤❤
> 
> Please refer to [this post](https://chierei.tumblr.com/taggingpolicy) for my tagging policy and details about potential triggers that may contain spoilers. 
> 
> Follow me on [Tumblr](https://chierei.tumblr.com/)?


	2. forgotten how it felt

_before_

The omega was awake by the time Victor pulled himself out of the shower, one towel slung low around his hips while he used the second to tussle his hair dry. He could feel the bumps trail across his arms as he stepped out from the comfortable fog of the bathroom and into his chilled bedroom, heedless of the trail of water he left behind him.

The bed was carefully made, corners tucked into the sides and the pillows artfully fluffed and arranged in a way that Victor never bothered with. The discarded clothing had been picked up and folded, Victor spying his suit resting on one armchair with the elaborate lace dress folded elegantly over the back. More noticeably, however, was the naked omega kneeling at the foot of the bed, legs folded under him and hands in his lap in a perfect imitation of the previous night. Victor spied the glint of gold on his wrists and could feel himself purr in satisfaction at the sight of his claim. If Victor didn’t have a meeting in the next hour, he would have been sorely tempted to enjoy another few hours with his new mate.

“Yuuri, right?” Victor said, as he tossed both towels into the hamper before he strolled into his spacious closet. They hadn’t been officially introduced the previous day, before or after the ceremony, but it seemed polite. The etiquette books tended to ignore what happened after the claiming and propriety was almost null and void now that they were bonded.

Victor saw the omega visibly start through the corner of his eyes, as though he was unused to be spoken to. “Yes, alpha,” he replied, eyes still downcast.

Victor shrugged on a pair a briefs that hung low on his hips, droplets of water still dripping from his damp hair and sending unpleasant chills against his warming skin. He skimmed his hand over the array of fabric before him, each professionally pressed, before he found what he was looking for. He pulled the seldom used dressing gown off its hanger, the slippering shine of silk flowing between his fingers. It smelled clean, the faint soft scent of cotton and baby powder lingering on the fabric, and it would suit the omega nicely. He emerged, still undressed himself, to drop the fabric over the omega’s bare shoulders, the deep navy color presenting a fetching contrast against the fair skin of the omega.

The jolt of surprise that was ill-concealed was amusing, as the fabric drifted over the omega’s shoulder, but the slighter man was too well taught to move without his alpha’s permission, and once again, Victor was suitably impressed by Inagawa’s choice. “Put it on and get up,” Victor ordered airily, already disappearing back into his closer to pull out one of his various suits. Charcoal, he decided, with the spruce tie.

When he resurfaced, fastening his signature gold cuff links to his shirt, the omega had followed his instructions. The dressing gown was blatantly too long for him, falling to just above his ankles, and the shoulders were too wide, dropping at the corners. The sleeves fell to halfway down his hands that were clasped against his stomach as he had waited in silence. Victor was pulling on his suit jacket, already halfway to forgetting about the omega, when he caught sight of the silent and still body. “Someone will be in shortly with some clothes and to show you to your suite. Your luggage was sent early, but let Anya know if you need anything. I have taken the liberty of ordering you a new wardrobe that I am sure you will enjoy.” Never let it be said that Victor Nikiforov couldn’t provide. “I’m afraid I will not be joining you for breakfast, but we will have dinner later this evening in the secondary dining room. Is that understood?” Victor was smoothing the lapels of his suit down as he finally drew up close to the omega, lifting his chin to have their eyes meet.

The warm brown eyes were shining, unsure and tentative, but nodded. “Yes, alpha.”

Victor smiled before drawing the omega into kiss, wet and dirty and reminiscent of the previous night. When he pulled away, he was pleased with the glazed expression and the creep of red that was dusting his cheeks. “Good boy,” he purred, low, and enjoyed the shiver of pleasure under his fingers.

He left the omega there as he swept out the door. Otabek was gone, another member of his security team instead standing guard outside of his door. When he moved to follow Victor, he waved him off. “No, send for Anya.”

By the time he swept into his office, Chris and Mila were already waiting with half a dozen items that needed his attention, his new omega was a distant thought.

———

The omega was already seated at the table when Victor arrived, head bowed and hands in his lap—a position that Victor had the feeling he was going to get used to seeing. His hair was styled back from his face again, light makeup accentuating his eyes and lips. Victor took a moment to appreciate the figure, clad in loose fitting cream trousers that stretched around the glorious ass that Victor had the privilege of seeing bared the previous evening and a dusty pink blouse with sheer sleeves and a flare at the hips in an imitation of a skirt. A dainty pair of feet peeked out from the end of the trousers to show a peek of ivory lace ballet flats to complete the image.

“Good evening, Yuuri,” Victor greeted as he took a seat, his guard closing the door behind him to give them a semblance of privacy. The secondary dining room was smaller than their formal one though both were rarely used. Victor tended to take most of his meals in the kitchen, surrounded by Chris or Georgi, as they laughed and talked shop over a few glasses of wine. This room, long and narrow, was filled by a grand glass-topped table, the abstract swirl of the wooden base the main focal point. Even the walls, white-washed and decorated with enough art to buy a small country, did nothing to warm the space.

“Good evening, alpha,” Yuuri responded, still not looking up from his lap. Victor suppressed a sigh of annoyance—the subservience was expected but tiresome.

“You are very well-taught,” Victor noted, motioning for one of his servants to pour him a glass of wine. “Wine?”

“If, if it pleases you, alpha,” he said after a pause, as though he was unsure which answer Victor would have preferred. Victor tried not to roll his eyes but nodded to the servant who gave a smaller pour to the omega.

Victor dismissed them with a quick wave, and they set the bottle on the edge of the table, the barest noise of glass on glass, before they disappeared into the kitchen.

“Let’s set up some ground rules, shall we?” He crossed his legs, picking up his wine glass, as he waited for omega to nod in agreement. He slouched, leaning his weight to his side and to his propped elbow as he gave his drink a slow swirl. “First things first. When we are at home, you may call me Victor, and you do not need my permission to look at me. Do you understand?”

His mate nodded, eyes still downcast. “Yes, Victor.”

Victor waited a beat, unmoving and expectant. “Do you understand?”

Yuuri paused before he lifted his head up to look into Victor’s eyes, hesitant with the barest trace of fear at the edges of his body posture. “Yes, Victor.”

“Good boy,” Victor said again, testing. He felt a smug sense of satisfaction when the hot blush crept up again to his omega’s cheeks. They descended into silence again, stilted and uncomfortable, as the first set of dishes were brought out—a cold summer okroshka garnished with a heavy sprinkle of fresh dill.

“Tell me about yourself,” Victor finally said, as he picked up his soup spoon, the handle gilded with an elaborate ornamentation. “Family? Siblings?”

Yuuri shook his head, dipping his own spoon into the cold soup and giving it a curious stir. “I have not seen my parents since I was thirteen. I am very grateful for the Inagawa-gai for taking me in.”

Victor could fill in the blanks. It wasn’t uncommon for parents to give up their omega children to pay off their debts. Even once presented, an omega was as beholden to their guardian’s decisions as any other child—a fake adoption to hide the transfer of an omega was an easy process.

A pretty omega like Yuuri had probably been worth a hefty price even at thirteen—even if he was three years too young for be available for a Claiming. But those years had probably been well spent if Victor was any judge: the omega was a textbook in proper etiquette.

The rest of the dinner passed in a similar stilted manner, Victor lobbying questions in an attempt to learn more about his new mate with little success. It was readily clear that he had been groomed to be exactly what he was—a pretty omega who could be molded to suit any given alpha’s tastes. He showed little to no preferences about anything that Victor had provided but took genuine happiness in bending to Victor’s orders. It was, admittedly, tiresome. Victor dealt with sycophants everyday, nameless underlings who bowed and scraped to his every demand. It was nice, at times, to not be questioned, but in a companion, Victor had always craved something more.

It didn’t matter much in the end, Victor thought, sipping his wine as he watched the omega daintily eat the offered dessert—a elaborate honey cake, topped with fresh cream and strawberries.

Omegas weren’t meant for love, after all.

 

 

* * *

 

_after_

 

Victor purposely took his time wrapping up the details. Not enough to appear to be dragging his feet, but enough to send the message that Yuuri—the omega—wasn’t a priority. It was a silly game of charades in the end. Everyone had already seen his single-minded determination to return Yuuri to his side when he had been kidnapped, but it was the game he had to play.

“Where is he?” he finally asked, hours later. Of the dozen Crispino men, two of them were still alive by the time Otabek and the rest of his team had arrived. Georgi was undoubtedly getting creative in his questioning techniques while Mila supervised dumping the bodies somewhere public.

Chris didn’t answer right away, but instead pursed his lips. “Victor,” he started, cautiously. He was tapping his finger against his sidearm, the faint sound of his nail against the metal barely heard but Victor couldn’t help but allow his eyes be drawn to the movement.

“Enough, Chris,” Victor cut in sharply, looking away from his friend’s fidgeting to meet Chris’s eyes, impatience evident. He was resisting the urge to run his hand through his hair, a nervous tell that he had banished as a teenager. “Where’s the omega?”

Chris sighed but gestured down the hall. “Basement. Left it tied up for you.”

Victor made his way to the door, without looking back. He didn’t want to see how Chris was looking at him.

———

The basement was empty.

It hadn’t been a hard assumption to make when Victor turned a corner and found two of his men unconscious and slumped against the open door. He took in the two bodies, noting that both were—unfortunately—still breathing. Pity. He pulled one of his own handguns from his holster, the Beretta a comfortable weight, and nudged the door to let it swing open. The hinge creaked, slow and haunting, as the door crept open to reveal an empty chamber.

The basement was a simple, bare room—windowless with concrete walls and flooring and a flickering overhead fluorescent light that would hum and spark every few minutes and cast ominous shadows with every movement. The walls, once smooth and unblemished, had long been chipped away from years of wear, the cement worn through time to expose the rough texture of rock and sand underneath. There was a large stain on the far wall, dark and smudged from ineffectual cleaning, approximately at the height of a man’s head.

In the center, a simple metal folding chair sat, innocuous. There was, predictably, not the omega Victor had been looking for it in.

Instead, there was a note, a ragged torn scrap with bloody smudged fingerprints along one side. Victor picked it up.

_You know where to find me._

_ps—You should really get better guards._

Victor, despite himself, smiled. He turned and swept out of the room, the satisfying clack of his shoes against the solid flooring the only sound. As he passed by the two still unconscious men, he flicked the safety off his gun and fired two shots, almost as an afterthought. He had no use for incompetency.

———

Victor did know where to find his omega.

The library wasn’t actually a library. It was Victor’s private study, tucked away in Victor’s wing of the building. It had been passed down to him from Yakov, like most things, and he had never remodeled it—as a result, it was all dark wood panels, floor-to-ceiling bookcases, and fanback chairs in shades of burgundy and umber.

Yuuri had access to very few places in the building. Victor had provided him his own luxurious suite with a private sun room that faced the back of the property. Yuuri had been allowed to roam freely between his own rooms, but was forbidden from entering the rest of the household without being accompanied by his alpha or, on rare occasions, his beta chaperon.

The library had been the only exception.

“Good evening, husband-of-mine,” Yuuri said when Victor pushed open the door, a gun already drawn and the safety off. Yuuri was splayed in his favorite chair, the vintage wingback with hand carved maple legs and truly hideous floral upholstery, and his eyes were focused on cradling the crystal tumbler in his left hand. He’d cleaned himself up and changed clothing, dressed now in a simply pair of black slacks with a crisp robin egg blue button up that wasn’t his. His hair was still wet from a shower and still swept back from his forehead and the glasses were perched on his nose, but he’s more recognizable now, sitting in his favorite chair with his favorite drink in hand. His legs were crossed, right knee over the left and it was the first time Victor had seen him sitting without his ankles tucked behind each other, his lands resting in his lap. This pose was carefully selected to give the best sense of casualness, but Victor had no doubt that a gun could be pointed between Victor’s eyes in a heartbeat.

Victor’s eyes homed in on the P-96 resting on the side table, its grip angled toward Yuuri for the fastest pick-up. Yuuri noticed his gaze.

“It’s yours, of course,” he murmured as he turned the tumbler around in his hand, his elbow resting on the arm of the chair as he watched his drink at almost eye level. The sound of the ice against the glass was jarring in the silence. “Weapons safe behind your collection of Tolstoy,” Yuuri said, waving his glass vaguely in the direction of the leather-bound volumes in question. “Four-digit combination. It wasn’t exactly a Swiss vault. Are you going to shoot me, Victor?”

“Do you have a good reason why I shouldn’t?” He side-stepped into the room, his eyes darting across the space before deeming it truly empty except the two. He pulled the door shut behind him without a second thought.

“Business, it is then. I would suggest you sit, but that might be asking too much.” He set the glass down, the harsh clack of glass against enamel echoing, and finally looked at Victor in the eye. “Let’s start with introductions. Katsuki Yuuri. Yoroshiku onegai shimasu.” There was that mocking lilt again in his voice, paired with the quirk of his lips that could not be called a smile.

Victor caught on to what was offered and would have been stupid not to recognize the name. Katsuki-gumi was the third largest crime syndicate in Japan, specializing in smuggling—mostly arms and drugs but occasionally people. “Any relation to Katsuki Mari?” Katsuki Mari—the only daughter of Hiroko and heir to the family. It had been quite the scandal, apparently, when Hiroko had eloped with Toshiya who had been her accountant. There had even been rumors of a coup before that had been brutally and violently squashed by a six-month pregnant Hiroko.

Yuuri smiled again, and it’s humorless. “My onee-san.”

Victor knew enough Japanese to follow and he didn’t think Yuuri meant older sister in terms of just organization hierarchy. “Mari is an only child.”

“Officially, I’m adopted,” Yuuri said with a sardonic upturn of his lips, resting his chin on his fist as he looked up at Victor from under his lashes. “Unofficially, Mother thought it would be the safer play to keep knowledge of me to a minimum. There are adoption papers and everything, but I promise you, I am the full-blooded son of Hiroko and Toshiya Katsuki.”

Victor needed a drink. He flicked the safety back on his gun, carefully and setting it down on his desk. He turned his back to the omega, pointedly, as he rummaged in his bottom drawer for a clean glass and his private stash of bourbon. Finding his prize, he leaned back on the front end of his grand mahogany desk, half-sitting on the surface with his legs sprawled out in front of him. He even crossed his ankles, showing a flash of the pattern socks above the line of his brogues. He tapped the crystal tumbler with one nail as poured himself two generous fingers of liquid. He raised an eyebrow at Yuuri as it poured. “Can I trust that this isn’t poisoned?” he asked.

Yuuri didn’t answer but just smiled, all teeth before he took a slow sip of his own drink.

Victor considered for a second and then mentally shrugged. The omega had plenty of changes so far to kill him and poison didn’t seem the omega’s style—ironic as poison was often considered the omega’s weapon of choice. He gulped half of the glass down, his eyes never leaving the sitting man, savoring the burn in his mouth and throat. It was a waste of perfectly good liquor but Victor needed the familiar numbness of the alcohol to get through this conversation with a level head.

“Katsuki-gumi wasn’t involved in the negotiations for your claiming-price. You were a gift from Inagawa-kai,” he probed after a long draught, still keeping a careful eye on the other man. He knows he should call in his security, tie Yuuri back up and resume this conversation in the basement with more unsubtle threats. But something didn’t feel right about that; here at least, they were on equal footing.

“No, they weren’t. They probably don’t even know where I am. The Inagawa have been my handler for over a decade,” Yuuri said, leaning back with his arms splayed on each armrest with forced casualness—as though both weren’t on high alert, ready to attack at a pin drop. “Pretty little omega makes for the best infiltration, doesn’t it? Omega, submissive, and a virgin. I was a triple threat, darling. How many times do you think I’ve been sold off like this, Victor? A verified virgin? And an omega? No one thinks to be on their guard.”

Yuuri takes another long sip of whiskey, as though he needed the alcohol as much as Victor to get through the conversation. “It’s why Inagawa-kai wanted me once I presented. I was, what was the term…a gift of good faith. Except it was an exchange, a ransom. They thought they were offering us a good deal—the adopted son in exchange for the heir. I was thirteen.” The sneer that crossed his face was startling, an ugly and angry open wound.

Victor must let some of his emotions slip to his face, because Yuuri continued.

“I am very good at what I do Victor, so don’t feel so bad.” Yuuri shifted to cross his legs in the other direction, still gracefully but not the usual sweet sweep of his legs to the side, but also not the open alpha posturing that Victor was wondering if he needed to expect. Yuuri’s mannerism were an odd mix now, caught between habitual submission but unrepentant in its dominance.

“And what is that that you do exactly, omega?” Victor decided to lean back on his desk, feigning relaxation but his grip, now resting on the stock of his gun, betrayed him.

Yuuri doesn’t flinch but Victor feels like it might be a close thing. He counts it as a victory.

“I’m an extractor,” Yuuri said, matter-of-fact, as he raised one closed hand in the air. “People. Money. Information,” he said, ticking off fingers one at a time with each asset. “No one ever thinks about the omegas, yourself included. I can kill someone in twenty different ways while some alpha is busy panting at the thought of knotting me. I can make people sing, Victor, without ever having to cut them open…though I do that too.”

The thought of it shouldn’t make Victor warm with arousal. He reined himself in, having no doubt that Yuuri was still trying to play him with just a different type of honey trap. “And what were you trying to extract out of me?” He took another sip of his drink, slower this time, his fraying edges dulled by the pleasant buzz of alcohol.

“Information. You and the Inagawa-kai are allies...for now. The oyabun wanted insurance, though, for the future. Information on your comings and goings at the least, but I was encouraged to sway you to make decisions for the best of the family. If you were stubborn, I was to kill you and seduce little Yura. Young alphas are much easier to manipulate. But if you were amiable, I was to have your child and raise it to keep our interests intact. “

Interesting. Victor hummed as he considered this information. The omega could, of course, be lying but Victor didn’t think he was. “What’s changed then? Why didn’t you just kill me?”

Yuuri licked his lips and a small clump of hair fell against his forehead, right in the center and contrasting against his skin. It made him look a touch more vulnerable, a bit more like the Yuuri that Victor had hoarded for himself behind closed doors, splayed out on soft sheets and decked in cashmere and lace.

Victor can’t place the emotion that Yuuri was showing, caught somewhere between resignation and indignation. He didn’t know how to respond so he didn’t. The moment passed, however, and the hard steel returned into those eyes and his posture shifted, one arm over his chest while he rested his chin on the other, staring down the alpha.

“It comes down to self-interest. I saw you back there, in the warehouse. You would have shot me to preserve your reputation if you didn’t think there was a way to extract me safely. I made the call that would keep me alive.”

Yuuri swung himself up and out of his seat, walking toward Victor with a carefully planned sashay that drew attention to the gentle curve of his hips that weren’t quite hidden by the ill-fitting trousers. “You’re smart, ambitious, and brutal, Victor. So, I have a business proposition. I’ll give you everything on Inagawa-kai. Names, dates, bank account numbers. Allies, contacts, safehouses, you name it. And I’ll give it to you if, in exchange, you back the Katsuki-gumi.”

Yuuri had pulled himself closer to Victor, hovering at the edge of his personal space, but just far enough to have room to dodge an attack. Victor would be lying if he wasn’t impressed—the whole show was perfect, a touch of truth and lies, enough vulnerability to play on Victor’s lingering affection for the omega and enough dominance for Victor to take him seriously.

Victor couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “This seems like more of a deal for you. I’d be burning a bridge in exchange for information that may be fake or outdated to back a dying family.”

“Well,” Yuuri smirked, “there is one more thing you’d get, Victor.” There was a slant to his hips, a quick lick of his lips that drew Victor’s attention to his face. He leaned in, closer, as though drawing the other man down for a kiss that Victor was helpless to resist. But then—

Yuuri pulled away, amusement playing on his lips and eyes, while Victor cursed himself, still dazed. “Revenge. They sent me in here as a spy, an assassin, remember? They expected you to be wrapped around my little finger. Are you really going to let them get away with that?”

“So, you can send them my head in a box and they’ll tell everyone that the great pakhan was brought down on his knees by an omega. Or, you can make a deal with me and show them no one fucks with Victor Nikiforov.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this took way longer than I planned, mostly because writing soft, demure Yuuri is almost painful to me. Sorry for the wait though, lovelies! Any feedback would be loved! ❤❤
> 
> Please refer to [this post](https://chierei.tumblr.com/taggingpolicy) for my tagging policy and details about potential triggers that may contain spoilers. 
> 
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